The Snowfall.

It was cold. Very cold. The snow fell from the sky as if it were a torrential rain, so much so, that it slipped through the rustic cloth scarf and the overalls he was wearing. He had been walking for a couple of days on the frozen tundra, the storm was upon him and he was starting to get tired. Two nights ago he had spotted the small town on Highway Seven in the distance, he hadn't stopped to rest. Rookie mistake, maybe. But surely if he were stopped he would not have run into her. Her hands were tied when he found her; in a dilapidated house that was beginning to fall apart, she was very thin, very scarred, she realized that it was a case of severe malnutrition, the girl had that look—that look of terrifying fear. Gently he approached with short but firm steps to show her that he was there to help her, and not to devour her.